I fled my homeland when the civilian government took over last year. Like so many of my colleagues I was a marked man, my name high on the list of undesirables. I knew the new regime would arrest me for numerous so-called crimes so I just bolted and ran, even changing my name when the pursuit got too close.

So I'm known as Roberto Perez now, but in the good old days I was Osvaldo Garcia, and I commanded respect wherever I went. In those days, when the generals ruled the country, I had everything I wanted: money, cars, a big house, plenty of women. Ah, yes! The women! They were prostitutes mostly, but I gave them cash and made them pretend that I wasn't fat and ugly. They were all young and pretty - none of them older than twenty - but I soon got bored with them. You see, I had other females to keep me happy.

The women's prison was to me a house of pleasure and I felt privileged to have a job there. I supervised a whole wing, with four guards and thirty women under my direct authority. The guards were all female and hard-faced, taking their work far too seriously. They didn't approve of some of the things I did, but that never bothered me and they usually left me to my own devices. Two of them refused to participate in the interrogation of new prisoners, giving the lame excuse that they were squeamish about torture. But the other two often assisted me in the task, one of them - a spotty teenager called Mina Vasco - even seeming to enjoy it. I suspected Mina of harboring lesbian desires, but she always vehemently denied it.

I took my pick of any prisoners who caught my eye. If a woman was slim and attractive I'd snatch her from her cell and take her to my private room. Seeing that special look of terror in the face of a pretty girl got me so hot that I often had an erection by the time I reached my room, pulling the prisoner along by her wrist or even by her hair. Some of those bitches came to the jail with the wrong sort of attitude, which made me want to teach them a lesson. The worst were the educated ones: the university professors, the college students, the accountants, the lawyers. Those sluts always arrived at the jail with a haughty look in their eyes. They'd glance at me like they were sneering, like I was some low-life in the gutter. But I soon showed them who was in charge.

I remember one particular bitch who picked up a one-year sentence for protesting against the military government. Helena Cruz was her name and she was a big-shot lawyer in the capital, a public prosecutor with ambitions to be a judge. At twenty-six she was exactly half my age and extremely beautiful, like one of those high-class supermodels in an American magazine. She was tall and slim and very elegant, with dark brown hair cut in a shoulder-length bob, and bright blue eyes.

When she arrived at the jail she was sneering all the time and talking about her rights and how she had friends who were journalists in Europe. I laughed at her and told the guards to take her down to my private room straightaway, before she went through the usual induction process. The guards left her alone with me and only then did she fall silent. She stood in the middle of the floor and for the first time a look of fear showed in her pretty face. She was dressed in very expensive clothes: a smart blue suit - jacket and trousers - with a white blouse underneath and shiny Italian shoes on her feet.

For a few moments I stood in front of her, just staring up at her - I reckon she was about three inches taller than me. She averted her eyes and started biting her lip. I chuckled, knowing that she was feeling uneasy and scared. I wanted to see more of that fear, so I told her to strip.

Watching a woman's face while I ordered her to undress was one of the best things about my job. Those bitches always looked so shocked, like they were surprised to hear such an order. How could they be so naive? How could a supposedly intelligent slut like Helena Cruz be so clueless?

She hesitated, staring down at me as though I had two heads. I'm short and ugly and fat, but I deserved respect from a prisoner and there could be no exceptions. My fist smashed into her face so hard that she staggered back against the wall, her hands clutching her mouth and blood trickling down her chin. I grabbed her hair and hauled her back into the middle of the room, forcing her to lower her arms. A big red mark spread over her left cheek and her upper lip oozed a trail of blood. Again I told her to strip.

This time she obeyed without any hesitation. I watched her closely as she undressed, scanning her face for any hint of weeping. I like to see a woman crying and sobbing. It turns me on and makes my cock hard, but Helena kept her cool and gave me no tears. While she stripped I reached up and stroked her hair, and that made her whimper a little, but still she didn't cry.

There used to be an Italian lingerie store in the capital and I guess that's where she bought her underwear. It was the sexiest stuff I'd ever seen: white lace bra and matching panties. On a woman as beautiful as Helena the underwear looked amazing. I literally drooled when I saw it, saliva dripping from my half-open mouth as I feasted my eyes on her. She looked so good in that gear that I decided she should keep it on a while longer.

She complained when I squeezed her left tit through the bra, so I punched her a second time, slamming my fist into her stomach. She doubled up in pain, but again I grabbed her hair and hauled her upright. Her face was a mask of pain, her features twisted in a grimace. I explained to her that she'd receive another punch if she gave any more insolence, and she nodded, resigning herself to the hopelessness of her situation.

With both hands I reached out and gave her fine tits a good squeeze, feeling their firmness through the white lace. Helena whimpered again, but stopped as soon as I raised my fist. Boy, was my cock hard! I walked around and stood behind her, savoring the sight of her narrow back, her slim waist, her long smooth legs. Her ass was a pert peach, its curves enhanced by the lacy panties, which were a high-cut style that showed plenty of buttock flesh. I heard her groan when my hands clasped her ass-cheeks, so I gave her a mighty thump between her shoulder blades. She stumbled forward with a cry of pain, but I came after her before she recovered her balance and my boot kicked her legs from under her.

I kicked her again, in the belly, as she tumbled to the floor. There on the cold concrete she lay sobbing, curled up in a ball, begging me to stop hurting her. I laughed, knowing that I'd brought her down from her lofty perch. My erection strained against my trousers as I watched her writhing on the floor, her lip still bleeding and her shoulders trembling in terror. I imagined her standing in a courtroom, spouting a load of intellectual crap to some poor kid from the slums who'd stolen a rich guy's car. I reckoned she probably enjoyed putting the lower classes in their place, making sarcastic comments while strutting around the courtroom in her smart suit. But I knew how to deal with her. She'd soon find out what happened to rich sluts who found themselves locked up in my part of the jail.

I was old enough to be her father but I felt no pity for her, even when her big blue eyes looked up at me, pleading for mercy. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to get up, but I booted her in the mouth, sending her flat on her back. I didn't kick her with enough force to knock her out, because I wanted her fully conscious when I fucked her, but for a while she lay in a daze.

I bent down and ripped the lace cups from her bra. Her tits were so firm that they didn't flop out but instead stayed high and pert on her chest. The nipples were light brown, with perfect round aureoles and stubby little teats that I felt a huge urge to bite. I imagined how good it would be to use my whip on those lovely round breasts, to see them quivering as I lashed red stripes across their smooth curves. Too soon for that, I told myself, as I unfastened my belt.

Helena came out of her daze when I knelt down beside her. She turned her gorgeous face to look at me and I saw that she was no longer weeping. She probably figured there was no point in shedding any more tears. The kick I landed on her mouth had split both lips, causing a lot of blood to run down her chin and onto her neck. Some of it trickled along her jawline towards her ears, and it was only then that I noticed her earrings, hidden before she fell by her dark hair. The earrings were of the dangly kind: silver lozenges encrusted with diamonds. Very expensive stuff, I guessed, as I whistled through my teeth. I figured that Mina Vasco or one of the other guards had probably spotted the diamonds, but no way was I going to let anyone steal them.

Helena squealed like a cat when I tore them off. I held her head and just ripped the silver hooks out of her lobes. To increase the sense of terror I paused for a few seconds after removing the first one, enjoying the expression in her eyes as they widened in shock. I met her fearful gaze, both of us waiting as I tugged gently at the other silver lozenge. Then, quick as lightning, I ripped it away, grinning as her face screwed up in pain. Blood oozed from her torn earlobes and dripped on the floor.

I squeezed and caressed her tits and asked her if she'd ever been fucked by a fat ugly guy. When she shook her head I laughed, calling her a sexy whore as I took off my trousers, shirt and shorts. I left on my vest, socks and boots and shuffled my big ass along the floor so that I could kneel close to her head. I rubbed my foreskin and thrust my stiff cock into her face, telling her she'd better suck me good or she'd get a real beating. She offered no resistance, parting her swollen bleeding lips and taking my big purple glans into her mouth.

Her mouth was soft and warm, like a hot cherry pie. Like all upper class sluts she knew how to use her tongue and her licks soon had me gasping. She sucked better than a prostitute and almost made me ejaculate after my first six thrusts, but I wanted to save my jizz for her cunt, so I soon withdrew my cock and crawled back to kneel beside her legs. I gazed awhile at her panties, thinking how cute her mound looked under the white lace, the dark triangle of her pubes visible as a faint shadow. Like the diamond earrings, those chic Italian panties wouldn't last long in the jail. If the guards didn't take them then another prisoner would, and poor Helena Cruz would have to wear plain cotton underwear like the rest of the rabble.

Slowly, listening hard for her reaction, I rolled the panties down her legs and took them off. I told her that I intended to keep them safe, for special occasions such as her first interrogation. She knew what I meant and begged me not to torture her, offering to ask her relatives to send me lots of money. I felt insulted by that remark, so I punished her for it, punching her so hard in her crotch that she screamed in pain. She wept and sobbed, offering to do anything I wanted, just so long as I spared her from torture. When I explained that not even one million US dollars would stop me from chaining her to my special table she wailed and whimpered, the noise of her grief and horror drowning the sound of my laughter.

Pulling apart her thighs I inspected her cunt. It looked small and cute, almost virginal, but I figured that a beautiful woman like Helena would be well-reamed. I crawled on top of her, deliberately putting my full weight on her body, crushing her so she could hardly breathe. My cock was like an iron spike and it slipped inside her without much effort, although I had to push against her dry flesh a few times, which made her squirm deliciously beneath me. Hell, she was so pretty! I tried to kiss her face but I was too short and too fat to reach it, so I had to settle for licking her fantastic tits. I bit the nipples really hard, again and again, chewing them until the teats were red and sore. Her yells turned me on as I furiously pumped her cunt.

I fucked that sexy lawyer bitch so roughly that her head kept banging on the floor. When I felt my orgasm coming I started whispering her name over and over, telling her she was a fine piece of ass whose body now belonged to Osvaldo. A trace of her pride and arrogance still lingered, because she called me a sick old bastard and said I was pathetic. Without interrupting my cock-thrusts I swung my fist into the side of her head, punching one of her blood-spattered ears. She groaned, but didn't scream, and I realised I'd knocked her unconscious.

That made me angry, because I wanted to see the expression in her eyes when I ejaculated inside her. She cheated me of that pleasure, the bitch, so by the time I shot my jizz into her cunt I was feeling diappointed. I crawled off her, swearing at the top of my voice as I quickly got dressed. She never moved, but just lay there in a swoon with her eyes closed. I stormed out into the corridor and up the stairs, calling for Mina Vasco, who came scurrying down to meet me. I told her I'd raped the new prisoner and beaten her up a bit, which made Mina chuckle. Fuck you, Osvaldo! she said. It's always me who has to clean up the mess!

Together we hauled Helena out of the room and up the stairs to an old office. There I left Mina to clean up the slut while I went off to the laundry to fetch a grey prison dress and some clean underwear. It wasn't the first time I'd gone too far by beating up a new inmate and it wouldn't be the last. Still, I was the boss of that wing and answerable to nobody, so it hardly mattered. In those days I did whatever I wanted and life was good. But that was my old life and itís gone forever. So itís goodbye to Osvaldo Garcia, the only guy who knew how to run a womenís prison. I'm plain old Roberto Perez now and nothing more than a face in the crowd.